Worth
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: Philby finds Willa in a heart-breaking predicament, induced by the greed of others, and does his best to heal her wounds...Willa/Philby


Worth

Summary: Philby finds Willa in a heart-breaking predicament, and does his best to nurse her wounds…major Willa/Philby.

English Romance/Hurt/Comfort Rated: T Chapters:1 Words: Willa & Philby

**Pairings: **Willa/Philby, major comforting, but after comes fluff, and it just demonstrates what's becoming of high schools all over the world. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Kingdom Keepers, sadly.

She oppressed herself to believe that these people had just an ounce of soul in their bodies. Her backpack lay inches from her strangely bent fingers, containing her textbooks, favorite novels, her cell phone, and a now empty wallet, as a bird landed on top of the backpack's left strap, pecking fruitlessly at the nylon before taking flight, disappearing into the blue. _Lucky, lucky birdie._

Willa lay in a dirt patch behind her high school, her sight flickering on and off, the neuron attachments in her brain firing back and forth so hard, she almost forgot where she was and how she got here. Remembering the scene visually was difficult, but Willa remembered three girls, all with high heels and dyed hair and annoying nasally laughs. She recalled being lifted from the ground by her thick, dark braids, so harshly a few drops of blood slid down the back of her neck. They were brutal, they spat in her face malignantly, until she was able to pull her wallet from her backpack pocket, her shaky offering of fifty dollars snapped up immediately, along with another giggle of twisted delight from the leader of the little gang.

With nothing to do (and her brain too clouded with pain to do much else) Willa began to list her injuries with as much detail as she could muster, letting out a shaky breath that seemed to scrape at her throat. There was her nose that felt broken, leaking blood, the result of at least five strikes across the face. It felt (and looked like) every area of her skin was bruised, her eyes too puffy to recognize her surroundings, just focusing on the dazzling sun that brought tiny drops of perspiration down her neck. Willa tried to rise, only to find a sickening numbness to her legs, and, if she had been able to clear her mind at that moment, she would've noted a dull throb in her lower spine.

Time passed out of knowledge, without her really knowing what time of day it was, or the position of the sun, since the sun was setting earlier nowadays. A cool breeze blew across the dusty plain of nothingness behind the building, drying some of blood running down her cheek. Still, her legs remained too numb to move, with her sub-conscious making mental images of things, necessities that could save her, but weakness obscured most of these options.

Willa didn't know the girls who took her money, she just knew that they were popular, that they loved to watch the downfall the others, a quality only to add to their wickedness. If a high heel drove itself downwards into the soft, exposed flesh of her bare arm again, her mind would proclaim defeat on herself forever.

How she wished that her face wasn't soft, but brutal, full of characterized creases, that her fist were hard as steel, so she could bring down the opposing forces without doing this much harm to herself. That her voice was sharp as knives, or that her body wasn't so easy to tenderize. Willa's thoughts did nothing but intensify the raging river of self-loathing, and no relief could be found from tears leaking from her half-closed eyes. With all that remained of her thoughts, she did the only thing she was capable of.

She sang.

Her voice was so soft, she could barely hear herself at first, garbled by swollen lips and nerve-endings still bleating electric rockets of fiery pain. She could see the lyrics on a mental tablet, but knew they must be coming out wrong, like a babbling psychopath wandering out alone. Her voice was another flaw, how she only spoke when the situation allowed, the tone always aloof and quiet and shy, because she was smart little Willa, who was only useful if they needed the "smart one."

"Oh my God…"

Willa heard someone's voice through the pounding blood behind her ear drums, slowly sliding her eyelids upwards to draw imagery from her surroundings, try to process what lay around her; dull bricks in the distance, weedy vegetation, a sun falling slowly down the Western half of the sky. A flash of fiery red hair, a navy laptop bag…no, he couldn't see her like this, he couldn't…

Philby had been waiting outside Willa's high school, after walking straight over from his own, trying to work up the courage to walk home with her, when he heard the soft singing, recognizing only a thread of the garbled words as a Disney song, from "The Lion King." It had to be Willa, who else would be singing Disney tunes, especially with that voice? Now, he was cradling her head, staring at the pained expression in her eyes, words forming in his mind, but his vocal cords knotted into paralysis. Who would hurt her like that? "Willa, can you hear me?"

Yes. _Yes, _she wanted to say, but she was incapable, only staring up at him, as his fingers undid her dark braids, letting her shoulder-length locks brush over the still-bleeding flesh of her cheeks. Willa found Philby checking every part of her, probably for broken bones or internal bleeding or something else that only he would worry about. Finally, she was able to secrete tears from the ducts in her eyes, the salty flow almost unbearable once they reached her wounds.

"I've got to get you home," he murmured, half-to-himself, only for Willa to finally reach out, taking hold of his T-shirt clumsily, but with surprising force, his heart breaking to see her in such a deal of pain. Speech was still out of reach, but she was able to shake her head at the mention of taking her home. In his mind, Philby worried she might need to go to a hospital, but if she didn't want to go home, she definitely wouldn't want to go to a hospital.

"No," Willa finally uttered, surprised by the cracked hoarseness of her voice, thinking of everything that would happen if she went home like this. Her fussy mother would clean all of her wounds with stinging rubbing alcohol, while her older brothers would pester her for unfathomable amounts of time, with questions pertaining to her injuries. "No."

Philby was stuck. He wanted to take care of Willa, make sure she was okay, and if she didn't go home…very gently, he slid his arms beneath her back, lifting her small frame off of the dirt, surprised by how light she was. Still supporting her, Philby slung his bags and her own over his shoulder, and began to walk. Willa didn't known exactly what he was doing, until he stepped off of the high school campus, comforted by the warmth his body radiated, much more soothing then the piercing Orlando sunlight. White picket fences, lush green lawns, billboards, cars, people; all blurred into a mishmash of society, as she closed her eyes.

Who could be evil enough to do such a thing? Philby continued to ponder this question, holding Willa in his arms, relieved by her steady breathing and fluttery heartbeat that vibrated through his palm. Why hurt someone as sweet and innocent as Willa? The worst she ever committed was accidentally hitting a few bystanders when practicing for archery, but she didn't deserve such pain. He still felt his heart splitting in his chest at her pain, worse then when they had been stuck with SBS, sleeping together in that bunkbed.

They'd have to be truly heartless to steal money from a girl like Willa (Philby realized this once her empty wallet fell from her backpack.) Even the snobby cliques at his school didn't do things like this; hassle the occasional girl who was good at math, or beat down upon a boy who happened to like social studies, but never beat someone to this point of pain.

His house. Philby swallowed, wondering whether his parents would be home or not, trying to forget his over-protective mother and his curious little brother. With a little bit of difficulty, he opened the front door with one hand, stepping into the front hallway, listening for the familiar murmur of the television, or muffled chatter from the kitchen. Neither of these sounds met his ears (just Willa's breathing) so he counted himself lucky, moving stealthily to the stairwell.

"Philby?"

His younger brother, Tyson (his parents liked to name them off of businesses? Dell-Dell computers, Tyson-Tyson brand meals) stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking a little nervous to be speaking. Philby knew that Tyson would spill, but he was good kid, only nine years old but still innocent enough. "Is she going to be…okay?" he whispered, using what his mother branded a "church voice" as Philby placed his hand beneath Willa's head gingerly.

"She'll be fine, Tyson," Philby finally spoke, using a more softer tone then normal when he addressed his brother, who was usually a little more loud and reckless then displayed now. "I've got to take her upstairs though," he added, so that Tyson got the idea that his bedroom would be off-limits for a while, so he could tend to Willa in silence.

"Oh, okay. Philby?"

"Yeah, Ty?"

"Do you think Willa would like me to bake a cake for her?" Tyson asked, with an excited glimmer in his eyes, an offer so kind, the corners of Philby's mouth twitched, at how sweet his brother was. Willa had only been part of his everyday conversation, never had she ventured into his home, but now, Tyson was treating her like a guest. With a proud expression, Philby nodded slightly, as Tyson rushed into the kitchen, the clamor of pots and pans following soon after.

God, he loved that kid.

Once safely in his bedroom, Philby locked the door, laying Willa on his bed, not worried about any of her blood spilling on the navy quilt, he could always wash it, because all he cared about right now was her well-being. Slowly, she roused, blinking as to process her surroundings; he hadn't taken her home, or to a hospital, she was in his room, a place she had only dreamed of. Thoughts of his parents and dripping blood everywhere threatened to heat her cheeks in embarrassment, but Philby seemed preoccupied.

"Do you want a bath?" he asked gently, so caring, such a huge jump from the torment experienced earlier that Willa felt her tear ducts working again, tears blurring his features, a pillow slipping underneath her head. She looked down at the cuts and bruises along her arms, realizing that mucus had flowed with the blood from her nose, a disgusting combination that made her feel gross.

A hot bath sounded nice.

"Can you…" Philby's face turned the same color as his hair, trying to regain the composure to talk about such a subject, "can you undress yourself?" Seeing how stiff she moved (with the little actions she was able to perform) he had a feeling she would have trouble tugging her button-down shirt off without a little help.

Willa couldn't tell the truth, that she could hardly undress herself and lift her battered body into the tub, but lying wasn't an acceptable way to avoid it, and she really didn't want to go without a bath. But he couldn't see her, he couldn't see what underneath her clothes, he just couldn't. With no answer, she watched in horror as Philby began to tug off her bloodied socks, careful not to agitate the pained, rigid muscles of her shins. "No," she choked again, getting closer to real speech, "don't look at me."

"I have to get you in the tub," Philby answered with tender firmness, dashing into the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom to get the water running, making sure it was just the right temperature. When he came back, he saw that Willa was on the verge of tears at the thought of him undressing her, like she was a life-sized Barbie doll. "Don't move, tell me if I'm hurting you."

With little to no information about female anatomy under his studious belt, Philby had to suppress his gawking as he undressed her, fighting back the amazement, although he forced his expression to be nearly deadpan. Not only was he getting an, ahem, learning experience, but he also saw that the bruises spread over her chest and torso, not just the visible flesh of her limbs and face. After her tattered, bloody clothes were in a heap at the foot of the bed, Philby picked her up again, carrying her to the tub, gently sliding her in.

Willa knew that Philby knew nothing of the female body, she had expected the usual widening of the eyes, but he remained silent while undressing her, a steeliness reaching his eyes when he saw the marks those girls left on her. Carrying her to the bathtub was one of the most embarrassing moments of either's lives, but once she was in the hot water, Willa was thankful he thought of this idea. Leaning her head against the tiled bathroom wall, she made sure all but her head was invisible from under the water's surface.

"Are you going to be all right alone?" Philby asked, once he was able to uncover his eyes from behind his hands, still a little shaken up by the experience. Willa nodded, and he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack so that he could hear her if she called. With Willa in the tub, he had plenty of time to think, sinking to his bed, and placing his hands over his eyes once more.

His relationship with Willa was peculiar. The official romance part had come later, after he worked up the courage to speak more then two syllables to her without his cheeks turning red. Philby had done his best to befriend her at the beginning of their DHI adventures, and, with little effort, they became good friends. They sometimes went to the library to study for finals, or she would engage in a game of soccer with him (she was never very good, but he couldn't shoot an arrow to safe his life.)

To be honest, Philby had a huge crush on Willa, that he tried to hide, but always showed through. He loved every quality, every square inch of her beautiful interior and exterior; Charlene was pretty, he had to admit, but he just didn't see her the way he saw Willa. He never knew if she thought the same things about him, but when she took his hand during the Disney firework show, he knew there was more then one spark in the air.

And now someone had beat her up for money. He almost felt like he could've done something, could've been there earlier to defend her (sure, he wasn't the best fighter, but he could've helped her.) Philby had only seen Willa cry once, and that was just when they went to Seaworld; apparently, the orca whale show made her very sensitive (he would never admit that he was tearing up at Shamus's wonderful finale as well.) But, Philby rarely saw her even complain about any pain, and even if she could speak now, she probably wouldn't of spoke a word about it.

Then there was the anger. Philby swore right there that he would get revenge on whoever beat Willa so mercilessly, leaving her behind a high school while taking all of her money. He loved her way too much to allow anything of the sort happen to her again, especially after the condition she had been in just ten minutes ago.

"Philby…"

Her voice was clearer now-perhaps the warm water did more good then he thought-as Philby got to his feet, relieved that she was, in general, going to be all right now, that he got to her before something terrible could've happened. He nudged the bathroom door open slightly, finding that she was standing, with a thick towel wrapped around her body, hiding everything he had discovered earlier. "Thank God, you can stand," Philby rejoiced, with the slightest line of a grin from Willa, letting her lean against him as they walked back into his bedroom.

The next issue, clothes for her, was quickly resolved when Philby produced an over-sized T-shirt and loose, but warm, gray sweatpants that wouldn't agitate any of the bruises or cuts on her limbs. Willa retreated to a corner to dress, with his back turned on her, then came back to the bed, leaning against the pillows, while he sat at the foot of the bed. Silence.

"Who did this to you?" Philby finally asked, his voice wrought with the iron anger that did well to mask the revenge he desired to bring on these despicable human beings. Willa's eyes avoided gaze on him, instead jumping from center points in the room, before giving a small, shaky sigh that ripped his freshly healed heart once more.

"I didn't know them," she answered softly, tracing one of her fingers along the stitches of his quilt, "but they all had dyed hair and high heels, and they wouldn't stop until they had my money." Willa hadn't spoken this much in a while, and paused a moment to rest her dry throat, while tears began to pool in the corners of her eyes. "I just didn't know them. One of them has tripped me in a hallway before, but nothing else."

Tripped her in the hallway? Another thing to add to his list of reasons to get revenge, Philby let his hand settle over hers gingerly, earning no slight breath of pain, just the tips of her ears turning a faint red. "Willa? I need you to do something for me. When you go home, you need to tell your mom exactly what happened-"

"But-"

"Willa, if you don't, they might try to hurt you again, and I can't let that happen to you," Philby insisted, his throat suddenly constricted, attempting to swallow around the lump, a warning siren for tears to come. "You need to tell your mom, tell your brothers-one might know those girls-you need to tell your teachers, tell everyone what happened to you." He saw that her lips were parted in aghast at the thought of telling people what happened to her, and tried to blink the tears back in his own eyes. "Please Willa, please."

She knew what he said was right, it was just the very thought of letting others know that she was too weak to fight her own battles, that she let three girls overpower her, to leave her dying. Willa realized that Philby was on the verge of tears over her, and squeezed his hand tiredly, gathering enough strength to speak. "I will," she spoke, his muscles visibly relaxing. "And Philby?"

"Yes, Willa?"

Using every last drop of energy in her body, Willa reached forward, pulling him towards her, into an embrace that defied the pain threatening to pull her arms away from him. He took in a deep breath through his nose to keep from crying, catching a whiff of Ivory soap, her dark, wet hair plastered to her cheeks now. "Thank you," she whispered, as Philby gently reared his head off of her shoulder, and pressed his lips against hers.

Later that evening, Willa sampled Tyson's culinary delight, complimenting him on his talents and even delivering a light kiss to his forehead, which made the young boy puff with pride. Philby's parents were befuddled when he first began to story about Willa being at the house, but, after she injected a few statements about the experience, swaddled in an afghan beside him, they understood without asking any more questions, and welcomed her warmly.

That night, after sharing one more amazing kiss with Philby, Willa started home, her tattered clothes slung over her back, her muddy sneakers squishing slightly as she crossed between the blackness of night and the dim glow from streetlamps. She knew that now, everything was going to be okay, good even, with the thought that she was safe, and that Philby had taken the jump of kissing her on his bed earlier.

Willa was glad that he had healed her on the outside, but she knew that with his help, he had healed her on the inside as well.

**Wow. Longest one-shot I've ever written, but I really wanted to convey Willa's pain and Philby's heart-ache at watching her like that. I know some people might be surprised that my stories don't center more around the DHI and Disney World part of the series, but I like to display each character's lives as well. Okay, ending was a little cheesy, but I like this one a lot, so yay for Willa and Philby fluff, and leave a review…please? =)**


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